Charred: Seven, Timeskip

One year later

The sound of a motorcycle driving at a casual pace echoed off the sands and stones of the desert. The vehicle and its rider coasted on a lone highway. The concrete was cracked, and pitted from long years of no maintenance, plants sprouting from it where the desert had reclaimed the land. The helmet-wearing driver weaved along the road, and drove towards a structure alongside the highway.

It had probably crashed there a decade ago. A jetliner, as large as building. The metal cover had rusted in places, the struts within poking out like the bones of an ancient dragon rotting in the sun. A skeleton lay on the floor outside, clothes long since turned to ash, its bone covered in the tooth-marks of scavengers.

The man on the motorcycle drove past the plane without turning his head, long used to the relics of the ancient world.

Further down the road, a mile or so from the wreck, was a gas station. The building was old and decrepit, a sign proudly proclaiming gas prices as low as six dollars a gallon laying on the floor. The man turned into the lot, his motorcycle coasting in. He kicked the stand on the black vehicle, resting it on its side.

He rose from his seat and pulled a paper from his back pocket, unfolding it to reveal a map. He stared at through his helmet for a moment, then placed it back in his pocket. The driver wore a brown leather jacket and blue jeans, a thick bulletproof vest poking out under the jacket. An empty sheathe bounced at his hip as he walked into the gas station.

The inside was just as bad as the outside, old junk food products scattered on the floor, fridge glass shattered, and shelves thrown to the floor. He removed his helmet and put it on the counter, revealing black hair and dark blue eyes. The man sighed, looking around before taking notice of a door to the back room. He hesitated, then walked towards it.

He opened the door, and stopped at the sight within.

The back room used to hold surplus items in its day. Now it was a place for blasphemous worship.

Men were bowing down, mad pleasure on their faces as they move with eerie silence. They wore nothing but loincloths, their bodies little but twigs from malnutrition and disease. Men of many races and sizes, fourteen in all. They didn't turn when the driver entered, so focused on bowing towards the woman in the back.

She was beautiful, with purple eyes and black hair that reached her waist. She wore no clothing, allowing one to see her voluptuous form in full. She seemed to ignore the driver as well, a smirk on her face as the men before her bowed. She sat on a throne made from the seat of an airliner, obviously ripped from the airliner a mile back. 

The back of it was decorated in various blades, clearly duct-taped to the back of the chair. Ominously, human skulls were jammed on the armrests, grinning outwards as her right hand tapped one.

"Gross." The driver said as he stared at the skulls.

This brought attention on him, but only from the woman. She grinned, her smile childlike and innocent despite the debauchery around her.

"Oh, hello there. Won't you join us?" Her voice was smooth, but filled with a sense of power. Her words hanged on the air like physical objects, slamming into the mind. The driver found himself taking an involuntary step forward before he stopped himself with a physical amount of effort. The woman frowned.

"Oh come now. Don't fight." She shrugged. "Or do. You'll be one with me soon enough."

"Not going to invite me to dinner first?" The driver said with a grin, his teeth still gritted.

The woman’s frown deepened. "A funny one. Not my favorite kind."

"Everyone's a critic." The driver let out a pained gasp as he took another step forward. "God I hate succubae." He winced. “Well, I hate you at least.”

"The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you." The woman lifted her arm lazily. "Now." Her hand came alight with purple fire. "Become one with me."

The fire became a beam of power, launched at the drivers head. It came within inches of him, illuminating his face.

Including the easy grin that appeared.

"Gotcha."

In a flurry of movement, the driver lifted the right sleeve of his jacket. The purple beam diverted in midair, flying towards his arm. The beam is siphoned into a steel gray gauntlet, sucked into a clear glass gem in the center. Once the beam was gone, the gem flashed purple, then slowly turnned clear once more.

"W-What?” The succubus said.

The driver lifted his arm, showing the intricate series of runes carved into the gauntlet. "I call it a Mindseal. Made it with the help of some succubae in Vegas. 

Blocks any mental interference, but it needs a real taste of the power to work." He smiled. "In other words, I've got your number. Now what do you say to dinner, before we get on with the festivities?"

"...Kill him." The woman snapped her fingers, now fully annoyed. "No man with a sense of humor is worth it.”

At those words, the men in the room rose to their feet, the previous looks of worshipful happiness fading to anger. A dark anger filled them to their very souls, turning their faces into something inhuman. All turned to look at the driver.

"Damn, how sad is it that this is still not the worst reaction I've gotten to my flirting?" He looked at the men coming towards him. "Name's Alex by the way." The driver's smile became something sad as the men sprinted towards him. "Sorry about this."

The first of the men to get to him lashed out at his head, only for the now named Alex to duck the blow and punch the man in the chest, throwing him back. When Alex punches again, the sound of a wet crack fills the air as ribs shatter.

He dived forward as two other men swung at him with pipes, wincing as they crack his arms, then grabbed their heads and smashed them together with loud wet smack of noise. The two men fell as Alex continued to rush forward.

Towards the woman.

When she saw him coming, her eyes widened. "Stop him! Stop him you idiots!"

They rushed forward on legs thin from malnutrition, only for him to use a far healthier body to start fighting back. In a show that was a combination of martial arts and brutality, he took his steps, smacking men down and shattering bones like glass.

The woman screamed, a shrill piecing noise, unleashing more of her purple beams. 

Alex grimaced as he was forced to take a blow on his armor from a thrall in favor of blocking her magical assault with his gauntlet. Not content with merely taking over his mind, the blasts now had a concussive effect, forcing him to adjust as they hit like physical blows against his gauntlet.

Surrounded by her thralls and under assault, he ran forward, his full focus on her. 

Long loping gaits, a dodge to the side, and he was before her. He took a look into her eyes, seeing the reflection of his own face in them. He reached for one of the machetes taped to her makeshift throne, ripping it out with a violent jerk. She released another blast into him, the force jerking him back slightly. Then he drew back his arm. Then he swung forward.

The feeling of her neck giving way to the blade of the rusty machete was horrific. 

The blade chipped into bone, as she choked on the blood that poured into her lungs.

Alex pulled back, hacking once more, removing her head. He ignored the sounds of the various thralls falling to the ground, the link of magic that had been sustaining them fading away. He stared at the headless body he’d created. Then he calmly stepped away, going to a corner of the room.

Once he had finished retching out the last of his breakfast, he wiped his lips and staggered over to the back of the room, rummaging through the various bags of the men the succubus had taken under her thrall.

Most of the fresher food had spoiled or been eaten, but some bags of smoked meat or dried fruit remained, which Alex pocketed. Some of the more useful tools were things he already had, but he carried a few to sell later.

The real treasure though, was a sword. It looked… ancient. It was made of a single piece of cream-white bone, or stone possibly. It was about four feet long. One edge had been sharpened so much that it shined even in the weak light of the room. The handle was wrapped in black leather that had been smoothed down by its users.

Alex lifted the blade up with a hint of reverence. He swung it outwards, twirling it through the air. As it split the air, the sword seemed to glow. Alex nodded, wrapped the sword in a blanket to take with him.

He gathered some of the bags in the center, along with some charcoal and other flammable items he’d found earlier. He went out to his motorcycle to siphon some precious fuel, then poured it strategically throughout the station.

Then Alex went over to the succubus. It took some work to remove her right hand. As weak as she’d been, she was still a demon, gifted with the hardened skin and bone of all her race. He worked it out though, and place the gory trophy into a bag.

“Not the best manicure you’ve ever had.” Alex managed to joke to the dead demoness.

Finally done, he used a match to ignite the fuel, waiting to make sure it had caught before stepping out of the station.

A full hour after he entered, he drove away from the gas station, leaving it to burn behind him.

Valiant was waiting in the distance.